? Do
you really think so, Malcolm?" said the old gentleman, rubbing his hands
in pride and pleasure.

"Surprisingly beautiful," I answered, seeking hurriedly through my mind
for an excuse to turn the conversation. I had within two months learned
one vital fact: beautiful as Dorothy was, I did not want her for my wife,
and I could not have had her even were I dying for love. The more I
learned of Dorothy and myself during the autumn through which I had just
passed--and I had learned more of myself than I had been able to discover
in the thirty-five previous years of my life--the more clearly I saw the
utter unfitness of marriage between us.

"In all your travels," asked Sir George, leaning his elbows upon his
knees and looking at his feet between his hands, "in all your travels and
court life have you ever seen a woman who was so beautiful as my girl
Doll?"

His pride in Dorothy at times had a tinge of egotism and selfishness. It
seemed to be almost the pride of possession and ownership. "My girl!" The
expression and the tone in which the words were spoken sounded as if he
had said: "My fine horse," "My beautiful Hall," or "My grand estates."
Dorothy was his property. Still, he loved the girl passionately. She was
dearer to him than all his horses, cattle, halls, and estates put
together, and he loved even them to excess. He loved all that he
possessed; whatever was his was the best of the sort. Such a love is apt
to grow up in the breasts of men who have descended from a long line of
proprietary ancestors, and with all its materialism it has in it
possibilities of great good. The sturdy, unflinching patriotism of the
English people springs from this source. The thought, "That which I
possess is the best," has beauty and use in it, though it leads men to
treat other men, and, alas! women, as mere chattels. All this was passing
through my mind, and I forgot to answer Sir George's question.

"Have you ever seen a woman more beautiful than Doll?" he again asked.

"I certainly have never seen one whose beauty may even be compared with
Dorothy's," I answered.

"And she is young, too," continued Sir George; "she is not yet nineteen."

"That is very young," I answered, not knowing what else to say.

"And she will be rich some day. Very rich. I am called 'King of the Peak,'
you know, and there are not three estates in Derbyshire which, if
combined, would equal mine."

"That is true, cousin," I answered, "and I rejoice